A goblin in a custodian’s overalls watched them from the end of the service hall. A feeling of déjà vu overwhelmed Clay, and then passed. He stopped and glanced at the goblin. The elderly custodian huddled against a door. He turned away, pretending to study the polish on the floor. Reaching around his police escort, Jack took hold of the door and waved the young officer inside. He watched the custodian out of the corner of his eye, and he waited until the old goblin peeked at him. He did not have to wait long. The goblin turned his head, and they made eye contact. Startled, as if caught with his hand in a cookie jar, the custodian straightened up, stuck out his chin, and summoned his dignity.
He wagged a finger at Jack. Barely audible, the custodian challenged him in a hoarse whisper, “Thee will not be a findin’ what you search for.” He trembled, “Thou art doomed!” Nervously looking around, the custodian fretted indecisively.
“Sir?” the police elf interrupted Clay. The officer looked to see what had captured Jack’s attention. When he saw the police elf, the janitor frowned, darted into the stairwell, and let the door slam.
“Who is that?” asked Jack.
“Rimshot,” answered the police elf. “He’s the custodian. Claims he saw nothing, but it’s plain he’s scared to death. I don’t think he likes elves either.”
Clay walked into the ballroom. “Maybe he doesn’t like elves,” said Jack, “or maybe he’s afraid of the police.” If he wanted to know more, he would have to find the custodian later in a more garrulous mood.